


Salvation Of A Broken Mind

by dirkygoodness



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Accidental Emotional Manipulation, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Brainwashing, Bullshit Companies for Plot, Canon Disabled Character, Depression, Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone thinks Fitz has Stockholm Syndrome, F/M, Grant Ward Redemption, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra Grant Ward, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Insomnia, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Missions, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Referenced Stockholm Syndrome, SHIELD 616 | The Bus, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Skye/Ward is not actually happening, Stockholm Syndrome, The Bus, Timeline What Timeline, Too many tags but probably more to come, however there is tension and it is hinted at either being past or them having feelings, i've no idea where to set this but its sometime after fitz is fucked up, is that the right tag idk, nothing happens with it though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-08-27 03:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8384992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirkygoodness/pseuds/dirkygoodness
Summary: Coulson had more or less locked him down on the Bus until he deemed him suitable, and apparently, he thought he was. 
Fitz didn’t think so, if his body’s reaction was anything to go by. 
But that wasn’t going to stop him. He wasn’t a child, or weak, and he didn’t need to be coddled like he was. 
He could handle this. 
Or, at least, act like he was handling it.
 
----
 
Ward gets an order to protect a new asset. 
When his mission intertwined with that of S.H.E.I.L.D.’s own, paths are crossed and tension builds as Ward does everything he can to carry out his order - no matter the cost.
Fitz gets knocked unconscious during a mission with the team, and when he wakes up he’s been kidnapped by his biggest enemy. 
Ward seems hellbent on keeping him there and Fitz can do nothing about it - but he’s starting to think that maybe he doesn’t actually want to fight this. 
Little did Fitz know, he was Ward’s mission.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this story is told from Fitz point of view (not first person) however for the Prolouge I needed to tell some of the story from Ward's POV, so that's what this is. 
> 
> There isn't an update schedule, but I'm not going to orphan this work even if I haven't updated in three months. Apologies for slow updating or anything else, but please be patient my writing style is all over the place and I have more than one fic I'm working on at the moment.
> 
> Sorry for inconveniences, misspellings, and any other mistakes I tried to fix as much as I could.

_ “Soldier,” Ward heard behind him, and he tilted his head slightly to the noise but otherwise remained motionless. Someone’s hand touched gently against his arm, almost hesitant, before the voice spoke again. “I’ve got a new mission for you. Special orders. Do you understand?” _

_ “Yes, sir.” Ward hummed out, voice rough and dark with intent. Laughter behind him now, rich with the power that it held. Ward never moved his eyes from where they were focused, keeping them trained directly at the wall in front of him. He knew better than to try and go out of orders. Another hand accompanied the first, gripping his arm tighter now. He sucked in a breath, so mineute he didn’t even hear it himself. _

_ “Good. Now, listen carefully.” _

 

 

Ward opened his eyes and sighed deep in his throat, fingers closing around the gun at his hip. Before him lay a compound, it’s walls large and white with a large logo on the front. He paid it no mind, he already knew where he was. Averilog Inc., a large corporation that was being funded, quietly, by H.I.D.R.A. for experimentations. Ward didn’t know exactly what experiments, but he wasn’t about to ask - he’d be told if it was pertinent. 

Besides, it wasn’t really important to him - the company itself. It was who was, hopefully, going to be showing up. S.H.E.I.L.D. was a hard organization to get his hands on, even more so when they had gone under the radar. 

He’d had to take some drastic measures to go about locating them - and even now, he was running under luck and assumption. Ward couldn’t guarantee that they’d show up, or that who he was looking for would be among them. 

But it wasn’t like he has anything to lose by running into them and anyway, he’s got a mission he’s to carry out. Ward, before, had never been too opposed to an order. Sure, he’d had his questions and worries but in the end his obedience had payed out and everything that needed to be explained was. 

Now though he finds himself fighting himself against the urge to damn his orders and flee, because anything would be better than what he needed to do. 

Well, almost anything. It wasn’t what the was doing, really, that was the issue. He’d done this sort of mission before - usually not with this amount of urgency, but still - and it’d been no problem. No, his issue with the orders he’d been given were who it was about, more so than  _ what _ . He sighed, leg burning with ache of sitting in the same position for a long time. 

He thinks - he’s not sure, he’d not brought a watch and isn’t risking taking out his phone - that he’s been sitting there for at least three hours, maybe more. Ward’s legs have handled far worse than this, so it’s not a problem. It’s still an annoyance to him, though, unfortunately. 

He feels a deep ache, almost, in his chest as he thinks of it. He almost misses being able to complain about things like this - like it somehow made it easier to bear the weight of pain or ache. 

It didn’t, Ward knew, but he still felt it and before he could stop himself he was wishing he could talk to someone. Or be back in S.H.E.I.L.D. No. Ward grunted and shook his head, before digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand. He was making too much noise and over thinking things. He just needed to get a grip over himself. 

He didn’t miss it. And even if he did, he wouldn’t let himself miss it. That’s just how it worked. The sound of a ship, flying somewhere above him, pushed Ward’s mind to the present and he looked up at the sky just in time to see the shimmering outline of one of the helicarriers. 

He gripped his gun, pulling it out of his holster as he stood - his feet taking him in a beeline for the entrance he’d secured for himself earlier. 

It was time.


	2. On With The Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had both chapters done, I just needed to post em together. 
> 
> And it begins~

He didn’t know what time it was. Probably past midnight, Fitz figured as he ran a hand roughly through his hair. It wasn’t like it made much of a difference to him, right now, as he tossed a screwdriver down onto the table with a loud clatter. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Or, if he did, he’d wake up before it really helped him any. Fitz can’t actually remember the last time he had a real, solid rest and it’d be more upsetting if the prospect of sleep hadn’t been ruined for him. Nightmares were constant, and if those didn’t wake him his sudden, random fits of panic would. At least this time he had an excuse beyond that to stay awake.

Skye had recently found some kind of coded transmission, and once she’d worked it out she’d shown it to them. Averilog Incorporated was doing under the table work for a spearhead company of Hydra and from the looks of it, something big was going down. Tonight. It was leaving Fitz almost jittery, ready to pop out of his skin with anticipation and adrenaline, and he’d holed himself up in the lab trying to get everyone’s gear is top shape before landing on site.

It was, more or less, a recon mission. Try and figure out what they were doing, or planning, and if necessary eliminate any threats. Typical mission. If he was being honest, he didn’t really _need_ to give everyone’s gear a tune up.

Fitz had just done a ship wide one not a week ago, and they’d not gotten into any rough waters since then. He didn’t even think any of this stuff had been picked up the entire time - beyond Skye’s laptop, of course. He pushed a gun aside, roughly, as he moved to grab a tool from behind it.

Fitz almost dropped it, his hand shaking violently, and he had to press his fist against the table. Closing his eyes, he gripped the tool with white-knuckling force. He hadn’t been out in the field, directly, since - since everything that happened.

Coulson had more or less locked him down on the Bus until he deemed him suitable, and apparently, he thought he was. Fitz didn’t think so, if his body’s reaction was anything to go by. But that wasn’t going to stop him. He _wasn’t_ a child, or weak, and he didn’t need to be coddled like he was. He could handle this - or, at least, act like he was handling it.

As soon as he proved that he could handle himself out there again, maybe the way everyone was looking at him would stop. Maybe they would stop giving him looks of pity anytime he slipped up with his words or forgot something. Maybe.

Fitz just wanted everything to go back to being normal, but ever since Ward had - Fitz choked and dropped his tool, reeling back from the table like it’d burned him.

 _Ward_.

He’d been _so_ good recently - not thinking about it, about him. He was doing so well.

He _had_ been doing so well. Now he’d gone and ruined everything by thinking about - _stop it_ , Fitz snapped at himself, glaring at his still shaking hands. _Stop thinking about that. You know what happens when we think about that. We’re about to go on a bloody mission, couldn’t you at least -_

“Fitz?” A voice called, and he startled so hard he knocked his elbow on a nearby shelf. Cursing, he gripped his arm against the pain, looking over at the doorway of the lap in confusion. It dwindled though as he saw Skye standing in the doorway.

She gave him a weak smile, her hand dropping from the wall. Fitz finds himself wondering how long she’d been standing there. It makes something hot rush through him, and he flushes in embarrassment. 

“Skye. Uh, hi, sorry. I - I didn’t notice you were there.” Fitz muttered, frantic, and he moved forwards and quickly began to straighten out the worktable before himself. Skye waved him off, shaking her head as she stepped further into the room.

Now, as he looked, Fitz could tell she was already geared up - for the most part - for the mission. It had him swallowing down embarrassment as more anxiety invaded his brain.

“That’s what the training is for I guess.” She sighed out, and Fits offered her a weak laugh. If nothing else, at least she still tried to be nice to him. Some of the people he’d met since had more or less treated him as stupid and worthless right from the get go.

Even a few people who he’d already known - even on the smallest level - had given up civility and respect for him the second he’d stuttered his way through their conversation. It had always left Fitz flushing with anger and embarrassment, and he’d not been able to stand up for himself. Stressful situations just provoked it and made it worse, no matter how much clever things his brain came up with him to say.

It just didn’t pass the brain-mouth barrier. Fitz cleared his throat, pulling himself from his thoughts as he rubbed the back of his head as he shot Skye a questioning look.

“Did you need somethin’?” He questioned, and Skye blinked at him for a moment before seeming to process his question and she made a little noise in the back of her throat. Then she moved around the table, slowly, like approaching a wild animal and Fitz had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

He wasn’t going to bite her. Skye rested heavily against the table, shoving her hands into her pockets and giving him a calculating look, her hair falling down in waves across her face.

“So,” She started, paused, then cleared her throat and started again. “Look, Fitz, about the mission. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, or, er, ready for it or whatever. Not that I’m saying you aren’t, I just - I just don’t want you forcing yourself to do this if you really don’t want to. People won’t think less of you if you back out now.” Skye’s voice was gentle, caring, and almost enough to keep her words from cutting sharply at Fitz constantly fragile emotional state.

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest almost petulantly. For a moment he just stared at her, trying to work out if what she was saying was being meant the way it came off, before finally looking her over sharply. 

“You _know_ they will think less of me if I do that, Skye. You _know_ that. Probably better than everyone here, christ.” He ran a hand through his hair, breath coming out in a shaky splutter before he looked back at her face. She looked upset, and it made the next words out of his mouth gentler than before. He still cared what she thought of him, didn’t want to push her way. _Look where that got you with -_ “I’m fine, Skye, really. I know my limits, I can handle this simple mission. I’ll be fine.”

Skye’s face crumpled then, suddenly, and Fitz didn’t even have time to brace himself before she rushed forwards and pulled him into a tight hug. He let out a puff of breath, blinking his eyes, confused, as he stood there stiffly.   
  
“You’ve got this.” She assured him, quietly, and Fitz felt tears rising to his eyes suddenly. Emotions swirled inside him at her words, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut hard against it. He wrapped his arms around her, slowly, before hugging her like his life depended on it.

Skye gave an almost chuckle, her head resting on his shoulder. Fitz bit his lip. Somehow, her words of encouragement were more empowering than his own but for once he didn’t question it. Instead he took them and ran, letting it envelop him in warmth and he held her.

Then, after what seemed like hours, Skye pulled away with a wet laugh and he noticed that her eyes were shining with unshed tears as well. It helped ease his embarrassment, though he still rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve in attempt to dry his own eyes.

Fitz gave her a look, amusement and thanks all rolled into one, and she nodded to him. He didn’t need to say anything for her to understand, even though he hadn’t know himself, that he’d needed that. A lot. So, instead of talking about it, Fitz moved around her carefully and pulled a gun off the table and handed it to her with a shaking smile.   
  
“Thanks.” Skye put it into her hip holster, snapping her head to get her hair out of her eyes. Fitz nodded, clearing his throat as he looked at the wall behind her. It was hard to get himself to look at her without the swell of emotions from a moment ago rising to the surface, so he opted for the easy solution.   
  
“Of course.” He hummed out, rocking back on his heels for a moment. Then, blinking, he looked her over suddenly realizing something. “Is everyone already getting ready?” Skye nodded, leaning back against the table again, smiling.

Fitz cursed, patting his pockets down nervously as he scanned the room. He hadn’t known everyone was awake at this time or getting ready to go - they must be closer to their destination than he’d previously thought. Or maybe he’d just grossly underestimated the time. Either way, he needed to get ready himself.   
  
“I’ve - I’ve got to, go and - I’m going to go get ready.” He muttered as he stumbled towards the door, Skye turning to watch him go. He heard an almost too quiet to hear protest from her but he was already out the door before he could possess it so he didn’t stop.

Fitz was currently in a baggy pair of sweatpants, a loose fitting T-shirt and a jacket. He’d ‘slept’ in everything but the jacket. He hadn’t even combed his hair this morning, Fitz wasn’t too excited about seeing the mess it’d become throughout the day. He skidded to a halt just at his bunk, entering and closing the door behind him. He dressed quickly, pulling on more appropriate attire before he gave himself a quick glance in the mirror.

What he saw caused him to pause, Fitz’s eyebrows knitting together. There were dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks thinner than they should be and his hair had grown out from what it used to be. Now his curls reached halfway down his ears and as he looked now he doubted he could do anything to fix the mess it’d become.

Fitz bit his lip, pressing a hand to his stomach. He’s lost a lot of weight too, and he puts that on the list of things he needs to fix - right alongside his nightmares and panic. Though he doesn’t have much hope in fixing any of them soon, he’s at least going to try and make himself do it. _At least he’s trying._

With a shake of his head and a sigh, he turns around and pushes his door open. He startles, though, when he sees Jemma talking with Skye a few feet away from him. He can just barely make out what they’re saying.

“-Seems fine, Jem.”

“You’re sure? He’s been holed up in there for days and he’s barely sleeping.”

“He’s fine. If you’re that worried, go ask him yourself. I’m not going to give you a report every time I want to go and see him.” 

Fitz slowly, quietly, shuts the door and turns around, leaning against it. His heart is beating at a hundred miles an hour now, and he feels a sickening, familiar panic settle in his stomach. Squeezing his eyes shut, Fitz bits the inside of his cheek to keep himself from taking this any further than it’s already going.

He knows what this is, and he’s going to do everything to stave it off. It wasn’t even anything to worry about. They weren’t talking about anything bad.

 _But they were talking about_ me. _What if they were talking about bad stuff before? What was Jemma saying about him before he’d heard them? What if she hates him now? What if they both do?_

The idea of Jemma hating him is, not only preposterous, but wholly terrifying that it sends him sinking to the floor before he can stop himself. She’d been his only friend for so long, they’d stuck together for _so_ long, Fitz can’t bear the thought of her hating him.

Or thinking less of him. With Skye it’s okay (it’s _not_ okay) if she treats him less because he’s never assumed she’d stick with him as her friend. But with Jemma the idea is sickening, almost too much for him.

He knows that if it _is_ true it’s mostly his fault. He’d been avoiding her lately, almost constantly trying to be away from her because just the sight of her sends him reeling with guilt and unwanted memories and he doesn’t want to have to force her to take care of him everytime he breaks down.

Even if she wants to. Fitz just can’t stand it - he doesn’t want anyone taking care of him. He should be able to control this, to get over it - hell, Jemma was already over what’d happened for them. Sure, she was still guilty, but she was functioning. Fitz couldn’t even _sleep_.

“Fitz?” Skye’s voice comes through the door, accompanied by a gentle rapping. Fitz squeezes his eyes shut, his leg twitching out and just barely doesn’t hit his trashcan as he startles. “We’re here, we’ll be landing in ten.” Taking a deep, steadying breath, Fitz is surprised his voice isn’t wrecked when he speaks.

“Alright, be out in a minute.”


	3. Stained White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> look i'm being productive yay

By the time Fitz manages to calm himself down and exit hist bunk, everyone’s grouped up in the common room. Though by ‘everyone’ that really only means three people - as May is piloting.

Ever since - ever since what had happened, it’d felt much quieter and emptier around here. They didn’t do anything, really, fun since it’d happened.

He misses it, but he forces himself to think of something else. Yes, Fitz misses it, but no matter how much he does it’s not going to fix what's happened.

Not going to change the sour taste of betrayal that’s in his mouth.  Fitz steps into the doorway, just out of eyeshot, and he looks around the room for the others.

He hears and sees Coulson first, hunched over the table as he points at spots on a map for the other two to see, and then it’s Jemma who he sees next.

Her arms are crossed, nodding along to what Coulson’s saying and he has to take a deep breath before he walks any further. Her hair is up in a ponytail, bouncing along with her nods and Fitz feels nauseous suddenly.

It’s been awhile since he’d been in a room with her - even with other people. Actually, he doesn’t remember the last time he’d been alone in a room with her.

That leaves him feeling guilty, and when Fitz steps into the room he can tell the others can see it too. Hopefully they’ll jot it off as him feeling bad for being late.

Clearing his throat, Fitz moves to stand by the table, a little ways off from everyone else. Skye gives him a quick smile from across the table where she’s standing, leaning up against the wall with a leg up, and it’s so much like her Fitz has to fight the urge to smile back.

He doesn’t, and he can’t even look at Jemma as he rubs the back of his head. Instead he turns to Coulson and gives him a weak smile.

“Sorry for being late, I couldn’t find my shoes.”  Fitz lies, and is almost upset with how simple it came to him.

Lies lately seemed to be second nature to him now, always trying to convince people he was alright when, in reality, he wasn’t. ‘I’m fine’ seemed as familiar to him as any other thought now, even if it wasn’t the truth.

But they didn’t need to know that. It’s not like doing this was making him worse, at least. He was working on it, anyway. When he was better, less, well, erratic then he might be able to tell them.

Some of what was going on. Though he didn’t think he’d ever be able to tell any of them what his dreams were.

He didn’t want to put that off on them. He was just barely managing it himself - he couldn’t force it on them just because he wasn’t handling it.

“That’s fine,” Coulson said, looking up from the map for a moment to glance at him. Fitz isn’t sure what he sees, but he purses his lips before turning back to the map. Fitz swallows hard. “you didn’t miss much. We’re just going to be landing here - a little ways behind the compound so as to not alert anyone to our being here. We stay together, Skye and I leading with May at the back. You two -”

He points to Fitz and Jemma, giving them a stern look. It’d be funny if Fitz didn’t know what he was about to say. “ - stay in the center. If anything happens, top priority is to get _everyone_ out alive. Got that?”

“But sir -” Fitz starts, taking a cautious step forwards. The last thing he needs right now is to be, for the most part, pared off with Jemma.

He doesn’t want to freak out again or say something he’s going to regret. Phil cuts him off before he gets a chance to finish, however.

“You and Jemma _in the middle_ , is that clear?” He says sharply, standing up and taking a step forwards so he’s directly in front of Fitz now.

He blinks, looking away from Coulson quickly as he takes a deep breath. He feels like a kicked puppy.

“Yes.”

“Alright.” And with that they’re done, Coulson giving his arm a reassuring squeeze before leaning down and rolling the map up.

Fitz is still staring down at the table though, shame heating his cheeks as he stands there. He almost - almost - wants to try and push the issue further, try and get him to change his mind.

Fitz knows it’s useless though, so instead he stuffs his hands into his pockets and turns, heading to the lab. He needs to get the D.W.A.R.F.s before they land.

At the very least it gives him something to do, and carry around, so it feels like he’s actually contributing something. At the most they may be of some use to them - you never know when you might need a tiny, mechanical camera.

It _is_ a recon mission,  after all. He’s not sure the amount of people they’re going to run into, but Fitz doubts that they’re going to be able to go very fast. He can just send them in and look around, even make sure the coast is clear.

He’s got a few other things to pack, too - just random machines and such that could come in handy if one needs to, say, open a locked door.

He quickly enters the lab, gathering up everything he needs and packing them up in a bag before moving to get the D.W.A.R.F.s from their spot on the shelf. Fitz grabs them, pausing when he pulls them down.

He sweeps his fingers across the surface of the case, a sigh escaping his lips. There’s a small amount of dust on the case, just barely enough to notice, and Fitz feels his chest ache with nostalgia.

He sets them down carefully on the table, fingers going to the latches but he doesn’t open it. It feels, almost, like he’s breaking something.

That if he does this he can never go back - back to what, he’s not sure, but the feeling is strong and it makes him hesitate. He almost regrets the decision to go on this mission - maybe he really isn’t ready?

Anyway, shouldn’t there be some sort of screening for this? To make sure he’s ready to go on the mission? Fitz is pretty sure he wouldn’t pass yet if he too one, no matter what was on it.

That’s probably why Coulson isn’t having him take one. If he was deemed unfit for field duty he’d not only lose an important asset, but he might be asked some questions neither of them were ready to answer.

Fitz shook his head. No, he could do this. It was just a simple mission, ones similar he’d gone on hundreds of times by now. It was routine, simple, easy. Nothing to get worked up over.

With one last brush against the case lid, Fitz quickly snapped off the clasps and opened it. He counted the D.W.A.R.F.s quickly,making sure everything was there, taking the tablet out of the case and into his hand, before shutting it.

He snatched his bag up off of the table, his free hand grasping the case handle as he walked briskly towards the door. He closed his eyes as he left the safety of his lab, taking a deep breath.

Fitz nearly ran into someone on his way out, and he stumbled back, blinking, an apology on the tip of his tongue. It died quickly when he saw who it was.

“Jemma.” He breathed out, surprise evident in his voice. She laughed nervously, rubbing her hands together in front of herself. Fitz noticed, then, that she was leaning against the wall like she’d been standing there for a little while. His brows knit together. “What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to, um, well, to make sure you were alright. With this.” Simmons replied, a little too quickly, and Fitz frowned at her then.

A sharp, unwelcome pang of anger shot through him and he didn’t have time to calm down before he was speaking again.

“Were you waiting for me?”  He all but accused and from the look on her face, unfortunately, he was correct in assuming.

With a snort Fitz pushed past her, making for the main room like he was being chased. Which he more or less was as Jemma followed, matching his pace.

“I’m fine, I wouldn’t be going on this mission if I wasn’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“I never said you didn’t, Fitz, it’s just - well, you’ve been avoiding me and from the looks of you you haven’t been sleeping. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but if you’re exhausted then you’re a danger to yourself out there.” She said, grabbing his arm to stop him, and Fitz spun around to give her a firm look.

It withered away though when he saw how worried Jemma looked, how distraught. _I did this._

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Fitz.”

“I -” He began, sighing as he looked away. For a moment Fitz considered telling her - telling her everything, talking to her about his worries about the mission and the fact he really, truly, wasn’t ready for this yet. But then he saw the way she was looking at him and he shook his head. “ - I’m fine, Jemma, really. I can handle this.”

They stood there for a moment, in silence, just staring at each other. Again Fitz felt the urge to open up to her - and again he pushed it down. This was exactly why he’d been avoiding her.

He couldn’t unload everything on her all the time, every time he saw her. It wasn’t fair to her and it wasn’t like it was going to help him anyway. Fitz gave a weak smile, inclining his head behind him.

“We should get going.”

“Oh, yes, yes right. Lets - yeah.” Jemma let go of his arm,  clearing her throat as they started walking again.

They didn’t talk the rest of the walk, and when they entered the room and Skye saw them she shot them a look. Fitz couldn’t really tell what kind of look, but it sent him coughing nervously as he moved to stand closer to her.

He felt more comfortable around Skye right now - couldn’t really describe it, but it felt almost like she was protecting him. Though that was stupid, it wasn’t like he needed protecting from Jemma.

More like she needed to be protected from him. _Wouldn’t want to freak out on her about everything that’s wrong with me, push her away more._

“You guys ready?” Skye asked, directing the question more to Jemma and Fitz was relieved he didn’t have to answer.

Jemma nodded, smiling at Skye like they just hadn’t almost gotten into a fight. It wasn’t like Fitz wanted to talk about it though, so he didn’t say anything and instead followed the both of them down to the hangar.

Coulson was already there, May beside him, and Fitz realized they must have landed without him noticing. Coulson waved them over just as the ramp started to drop, and they hurried over to him.

“Remember!” Coulson said, eyes sharp and focused he looked back at them. “In and out, quick, fast. Don’t draw attention to yourself, and keep a low profile. We don’t want to start a war.”

Fitz glanced at Jemma, then Skye, and they both looked at him. Then Skye nodded, moving to stand beside Coulson as May moved behind them.

As they all raised their guns Fitz knew that it was much too late to back out now. He couldn’t even tell if he wanted to, and he followed after the others quickly.

Jemma grabbed onto his arm, and he jumped, but didn’t protest. He wasn’t too opposed to it, this time, and they ran quickly across the dew stained grass towards the white shape of the building.


	4. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> update ftw, shits about to go down

The compound was like a labyrinth of different hallways and useless rooms, most of which they couldn’t access without making a scene. A few were guarded by large, armed men, and others you could hear the sounds of heated debates or tools working behind the doors. 

It was like walking through a government facility, with how bright the white lights were against the matching floor and walls. It left Fitz feeling on edge, his shoulders hunched and posture rigid with tension. As much as he trusted the others to get them out of this it did little to lessen the sour taste of anticipation, the image of people with guns popping up from behind a corner replaying itself over in his mind like a broken tape. 

Jemma’s hand was still holding onto his arm and he took quilty relief from it. It lessened the terror that was trying to strangle him, at least. Fitz has to force himself to ignore the way his mind reels at the idea of taking comfort from her, though. 

He feels like he’s almost leading her on or something and he mentally winces at the thought. Fitz is just taking comfort from a friend, that’s all.  _ Even if he was going to hurt her in return _ . Fitz clenches his fingernails into the palm of his hand, hard, trying to distract himself from his own mind. It helps a little, but the panic is still there and he’s almost confused. He feels like he’s being forced through a cheese grater, like something's ripping away bits of him little by little the more he’s here, in this compound. 

Or, maybe, it’s being out in the field again? He hopes it isn’t, not only because it’d be bad if he had a freak out here, but also because if he has to keep lying about being okay and ready for missions he doesn’t want to feel like  _ this  _ every time he’s on one. Fitz hates feeling like this - weak or helpless. He’s a lot more resilient than people think, no matter what his body or mind is trying to get him to believe. He can handle a lot more than betrayal. It’s not like he and - it’s not like he and  _ him  _ were that close, anyway. 

Not that big of a deal. Fitz startles out of his thoughts at the sound of a gunshot, albeit quieted by a silencer. Coulson gently lays a body down onto the ground as to not make noise, and Fitz is suddenly back in the present.  _ Shit, _ he thinks to himself,  _ he hadn’t even noticed that there was someone to fight _ . Fitz shakes his head, mentally kicking himself.  _ Right, mission. Danger. All that.  _ He quickens his step to be closer to Skye and Coulson, glancing momentarily over his shoulder at Jemma and May.

Jemma’s looking ahead of them, every now and again glancing down at her watch - he suspects she’s timing them. She’d probably figured out what times who was meant to be where, just to be safe. Fitz hadn’t even thought of that, and he pushes down a wave of self-consciousness before it can take root in his chest. Instead he glances at May, who’s laser focused on her surroundings. 

It’d be terrifying if Fitz wasn’t on their team. Hell, it’s frightening now as it is. He turns his head back, his own eyes quickly going over the immediate area. Three doors, two on the left, one on the right - all locked off with what looks like fingerprint scanners. Fitz frowns. 

There’s no reason to have those here, it’s not like they’re keeping top secret information here. Yes, they’re affiliated with compounds of Hydra, but it’s not like they’re some important research facility or anything. They probably only ever used for selling and buying things, and it sets Fitz on edge instantly. 

His mouth thins into a line, and he taps Skye in the shoulder gently. She doesn’t turn, but she shoots him a quick, fleeting glance over her shoulder saying she acknowledges him. He clears his throat. 

“We might have a problem,” Fitz begins, whisper quiet as he eyes the last door panel as they pass it. Coulson comes to a stop, turning to look at him, his attention focused as soon as Fitz had said problem. “There - there are fingerprint scanners on these doors.”   


“So?” May snaps from behind him, obviously annoyed at stopping in the hallway. Fitz doesn’t blame her, but his mind is going a hundred miles an hour and he can’t even stop to acknowledge her.    


“This company is a small part of Hydra, you said so yourselves.”  _ It’s why you chose this mission _ , goes unsaid, but it’s almost overly clear. “So why would they have fingerprint scanners for locks when they don’t have money for an actually - actually usable security system. We got it without even one alarm tripping.”   


“So -” Skye starts, but Jemma speaks from behind him first.    


“Unless there’s something here they’re keeping secret, that worth extra security.” Fitz looks at her and they share a momentary second of understanding as their eyes lock, before Coulson is sucking in a breath.    


“Everybody on high alert, be careful not to set off any alarms.” Is what he says, but it’s not like Fitz was expecting him to call off the mission even if his heart sinks a little at it. They start moving again without any real discussion, and Fitz once again settles into the eerie silence of his own thoughts. 

He pays much more attention now though, even if it still feels like he’s wading through ten inches of molasses. It’s about ten minutes of quiet walking, careful avoidance of guards, before they manage to find the room they’re looking for. It’s a records room, hopefully going to retain something to do with Hydra. 

With how small the company is, there’s more chance for a slip up with these less skilled workers. Though the images of fingerprint scanner locks darkens their chances more, it’s still much more likely than, say, getting something from an actual Hydra base. Fitz quickly makes work of the door, eyeing it up and down with calculating precision. It’s a simple lock, though heavy-duty compared to the door they’d used to get into the compound. Still, it’s well in the array of their abilities. 

Fitz watches Coulson skillfully pick the lock, like he’s some well versed thief, and it’s impressive how fast he’s able to open it. Not that Fitz doubted him, but it only takes him three minutes. They all go in fast, the ones who have guns raising them pointedly in case of any danger. 

Fitz’s mind does a double take as he takes in the room before him. It’s massive, much bigger than and records room would ever need. The lights are brighter too, and on, which is confusing in and of itself. But that’s not the part that stops him in his tracks

. It the blatant lack of actual records, or anything to store them in. In fact, the only things in the room are large, military grade cars and racks around the room holding what he assumes are fuel barrels. He barely gets out a confused, “What-?” before there’s a gunshot and Skye shouts in pain, and Fitz is thrown to the side by May. He and Jemma land hard behind one of the barrel racks, his elbow hitting the concrete floor with a worrying crack. 

J emma makes a startled, pained noise to accompany Fitz own hurt yelp - but they’re both quickly drowned out by the explosion of gunshots echoing through the too big room. Fitz covers his ear with his unhurt arm, hissing in pain. Jemma is scrambling to sit up, using Fitz as leverage, and it’s only then that he notices she’s got a hand on his chest to hold him down. 

Her protectiveness would be touching if his arm didn’t feel like it was on fire. He casts a wandering glance at her, before moving his head to look over at where the others were only a moment ago. Fitz sudden panic eases a little as he sees they’d managed to duck behind a similar rack, but then he feels nauseous when he sees Skye, clutching her leg, crimson blossoming against the area. 

He wants to go to her, to see if he can help, but there's too much going on - someone's shooting a fucking machine gun between them, like they’re trying to keep them separated. He’s not sure how long this goes on, Fitz gripping the side of his head, fighting between ear pain and the pain in his arm, before finally the gunfire stops. His and Jemma’s breathing are overly loud, and he can hear Skye and Coulson talking to each other, but he can’t manage to bring himself to glance at them. 

Instead Fitz sits utterly still, frozen in place with suffocating confusion and adrenaline. Jemma looks down at him, her eyes drawn to his elbow worriedly, but Fitz shakes his head. Fitz would know if it was broken, it’d hurt much more than this. To emphasise this he extends his arm with only minimal wincing. Jemma looks at him, her eyebrows knit together in concern, but she nods anyway. 

Fitz gives her a weak smile. Even in these circumstances, it’s nice to have her trust him when he says he’s okay. Even if he hadn’t actually said it. But it’s short lived as suddenly someone is talking to them.    


“Sorry,” The voice says, cold and calculating, sharp. Fitz’s eyes widen in shock and confusion. He can almost place the sound of that voice but - “That’s probably going to leave a scar, huh? Well, at least it’s not enough to kill you Skye.” 

Fitz’s brain short circuits and he feels all the air leave him in a matter of seconds. He barely notices the way Jemma’s hand clenches in his shirt, the way her breath hitches. It feels like a dream or something similar, like it’s not actually happening. 

Like he hadn’t heard the voice he thinks he has, like it’s just a nightmare he’s had - like the hundreds of others he’s had. But it isn’t, because the pain in his elbow is too real, because he can feel heat radiating off of Jemma - because -   


“ _ Ward?! _ ” Skye shouts, disbelief and shock blatant in her voice and Fitz wants to vomit. There’s a laugh, humorless, that sends chills down Fitz’s spine.    


“Hi guys, long time no see.” Ward says, and then he’s shooting again, but this time aims for the barrels above the others and Fitz can only register what happens out of the corner of his eyes. The barrel is hit, and the bullet goes right through, and where Fitz would have expected fuel out falls sand onto Coulson’s head. 

Then three men dressed in pitch black fall from a balcony above them and they charge Coulson and the others. Fitz can’t move though, can’t even register the panic for his friends because he’s shut down. He can’t even feel himself breathing, and only after Jemma tugs on his arm, hard, does he notice that he’s not breathing. Fitz gasps, toppling over and only just catching himself on Jemma’s side as he starts to shake.    


“Fitz we need to move, come on,” Jemma says, desperation lining her every word, but Fitz can’t get his brain to get over the mental image of the other shoe dropping.    


“He - he’s, i-it’s, it can’t - he can’t be here, we -” Fitz knows he’s freaking out, in some detached sense, but he can’t stop himself. Couldn’t even if he was trying to, which he isn’t, because he’s too shocked and terrified to do anything consciously. 

Jemma is talking to him still, in hushed, frantic tones but he can’t make out what she’s saying because he can hardly register the fact that there’s even a floor underneath him. All that’s running through his mind is that Ward is here, right now, and he’s trying to kill them. 

It’s like all his nightmares are coming true in the span of a few seconds and it leaves him gasping for ever needed air.


End file.
